


Gas Ovens

by Acai



Series: the boiling point [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Connor doesn’t like salad, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Human AU, Human! Connor, Hurt/Comfort, Kid! Connor, Kidfic, Markus and Connor are gonna be best friends, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sleepovers, Trauma, Twister - Freeform, a whole bunch of kids having a good time while Carl is a doting father, but he has to eat it because leaves make u grow big, kid AU, toothrotting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 16:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15319749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acai/pseuds/Acai
Summary: Connor goes to a sleepover at the Manfred house._____NOTE: this story is PART TWO of the boiling point, and should be read in order of the series to be fully understood.





	Gas Ovens

**Author's Note:**

> THIS STORY COMES AFTER 373°!! 
> 
> You could probably get through this without reading that first, but it’s going to make a lot more sense if you read the full story. 
> 
> The events of Gas Ovens come between chapters four and five, and tell Connor’s point of view while Hank is away.

Despite Connor’s sudden burst of personality during his goodbyes to Hank, the tiny boy seemed to curl back in on himself the second the front door shut. A wariness had crept into his posture as he clutched something leather in his right fist and peered up at Carl.    
  
When they heard Hank’s car start up in the driveway, Connor resigned himself to staring moodily at the decorations in Carl’s front hall.    
  
“Well,” Carl offered the nervous child a warm grin. “You may join the other children upstairs to play, or I can show you around, if you’d prefer?”    
  
Connor shifted his weight from foot to foot. At last, he pointed to kitchen doorway. As he pointed, he stilled, gaze suddenly landing on the two yellow canaries that sat near the revolving doors.    
  
“Oh, they’re friendly.” Carl began, preparing to grab a blanket to cover the birds up if they scared the boy. Instead, Connor made his way over to the cage, standing on his tiptoes as he strained to see them closely. When he’d found a position where he could clearly see them, his eyes grew wide even as he clutched his trinket to his chest tighter. He turned to look back at Carl, and it was astonishment in the boy’s eyes that greeted him.    
  
Carl grinned back. There was plenty of things he loved about children, but the wonder of discovery was certainly up there.    
  
Connor watched the birds a little longer before relaxing on the flats of his feet again. As he turned back to Carl, a door crashed into a wall from somewhere upstairs. Shouting poured out from the room, and Carl had to bite back a sigh at the inconvenient timing. Next to him, Connor’s eyes flared with fear.

A pair of footsteps pounded down the stairs behind them. Simon skidded to a halt once he reached the last step, and nearly tripped over the rug as he turned to Carl with a bothered expression.    
  
“North and Josh are fighting,” he jabbed a finger towards the top of the stairs. His eyes fell to rest on the spot where Connor was staring back at him with big eyes.    
  
Simon straightened up and smiled. At twelve years old and a healthy weight, he looked more than just two years older than the other boy. Then, he stuck out his hand. “Hi! I’m Simon! I’m twelve. Are you new?”    
  
Carl waited a moment for Connor’s reply, but the boy only turned his owl gaze on him instead.    
  
“Connor is just here to visit for the night, and he’ll go home tomorrow. Right?” Carl tried to prod the boy with another smile.    
  
Connor’s gaping mouth snapped shut at the reminder that he would be returning to Hank soon, and he relaxed just a little. He nodded shakily in Simon’s direction.    
  
“How old are you?” Simon asked, seeing to have forgotten about the yelling match upstairs as he dangled off the railing. Connor held up ten fingers in response.    
  
“Well, guess it’s a relief you’re only ten, ‘cause you don’t have any more fingers than that!” Simon laughed at his own joke, but squinted in the younger boy’s direction when he was met with silence. “You’re kinda quiet, aren’t you?”

Connor shook his head defensively, but it didn’t help his case when he continued on in his silence. A crash rattled the staircase, and Carl decided that this was an opportune moment to return to their previous topic and spare Connor any more stress. 

“Up we go, then.” He shooed Simon up the stairs, but waited for Connor to join him at the base. The boy’s eyes slowly trailed up the stairs, to the source of the noise. Carl could admit, all the yelling sounded worse than it probably was. North had always been a tad over-dramatic, and while Josh was soft spoken, he could get heated in an argument if someone nudged him on. And, knowing North, she had nudged him on. It wasn’t the ideal time for Connor to meet them, but it would be better to rip off the bandage now. 

He held out a hand for the small boy to grab if he wanted to. “Would you like to join us, Connor?” And, off Connor’s adamant head shaking, “they’re both just passionate souls. They’ll have forgiven each other and moved on in ten minute’s time. And I’m sure they’d like to meet you.” 

Cautiously, like he wasn’t quite sure he was allowed, Connor took hold of Carl’s hand. Their ascent up the stairs was slow, with the way that Connor stopped on each step and summoned the courage for the next one, but they made it in time for Simon to pop his head back out of the room where the arguing was taking place. Connor stopped in his tracks in the doorway, and Carl left him to his devices as he slipped in to pry North away from her brother.

“You two are setting an awful first impression for yourselves. Not only that, but violence is never the answer,” Carl scolded.

North was red in the face and fuming. “He called me controlling!”

“You  _ are  _ controlling!” Josh had crossed his arms over his chest, and he, too, was scowling. 

In the corner, the baby started to cry. 

“Stop, stop, stop.” Carl held up his hands between them. “Conflict resolution skills, you two.” 

The two children continued to scowl at each other for what must have been three or four minutes, until at last Josh broke first. 

“I’m sorry I called you controlling. It wasn’t nice, and I was angry at you. I think my anger was a little okay, though, because sometimes you don’t listen to us when we talk, and it would be nice if you did more.” 

“Thank you, Josh.” Carl turned his gaze to North, who just burrowed further into her scowling.  _ “North.”  _

Even though North wasn’t thirteen for another two months, the loud groan she let out screamed ‘teenage girl’. “I’m sorry,” she grit out. Carl nudged her shoulder, and she had the decency to look a little sheepish. When she continued, her tone was more sincere. “I’m sorry I got mad at you and didn’t listen. I can  _ try  _ and listen more next time, because I guess I like playing with you.” 

“There!” Markus, who had been close to biting his nails in the corner, stood up and clapped his hands together. “That’s done. Now we can play again, right?” 

From where she was rocking the baby, Kara pointed to Connor standing in the doorway. “Hang on—who’s he?” 

Again, Carl gave Connor a chance to introduce himself. When he only took a step back into the hall, Carl took over. “This is Connor. He’s ten, and he’s staying with us for tonight while his guardian is at work.” 

“Hank,” Connor added quietly, which chalked up to a grand total of one word said all night. 

Carl nodded and stepped back to give Connor space to enter the room. “Connor, these are my kids. Markus and Josh—they’re your age—and North and Kara. You met Simon downstairs.” 

“Kara is fourteen, so she knows everything,” Josh added, whispering loudly enough that it could hardly be considered a whisper at all.

The girl in the corner waved the little baby’s hand at Connor. “This is Alice. She’s quiet, too.” 

Connor, looking confused but not yet overwhelmed, made an approach into the room that was entirely his style—slow, cautious, and analytical. He walked up to Markus first, and the other little boy beamed.

Connor held out his flat palm stiffly, watching Carl out of the corner of his eye. Markus took a moment to process what was happening, and then lit up like a Christmas tree. He high-fived Connor, and the smaller boy jumped, despite being the one to initiate the action. 

“We’ll have fun,” Markus promised. Connor tucked his trinket-holding palm further behind his back, but nodded at Markus in return. 

Carl lingered just long enough to watch the kids settle down into a game of Twister. Connor had sat himself down against the wall, watching with a keen curiosity that made him lean forward as he watched. Markus, whose people-pleasing skills came as naturally as rain, was sitting next to him. He was explaining the rules and processes of the game for Connor as it went along, and Carl took his cue to leave the kids to their own devices. He would only be next door, so he’d be able to listen closely enough to know if any more problems arose. 

Aside from occasional bursts of laughter from the children, and the occasional noisy babbling from the baby, the next few hours passed uneventfully until lunch. 

The nice thing about raising six young children was that Carl didn’t need a clock to know when it was time to begin preparing lunch. Instead, he would listen to the noise from the other room die down, and would wait until Markus came to ask him if they could eat. In Carl’s opinion, the growling stomachs of six children could tell time better than any clock ever could. 

When Markus popped his head into Carl’s office that morning, Connor was still trailing behind him like a duckling. 

Carl, already knowing what time it was, stood and waved them both out of the doorway so that he could join them in the hall. “Would you two like to help me make lunch today?”

If anything, giving Connor a little break from so many noisy kids might be nice for him, and Carl wanted to get to know the boy better, too. 

“Yes!” Markus was already straightening up, like he’d been tasked with an important mission. Connor watched him closely and straightened up, too. When he looked back at Carl, he offered a shy thumbs up. 

Down the stairs they went, through the front hall and into the kitchen. Markus was already digging through the lazy Susan for a pot, so Carl tasked Connor with grabbing lettuce from the fridge. He met them both in the middle with bowls. Next to him, Connor was still holding something in his fist. 

“Is that special?” Markus asked, pointing towards the closed fist. 

Connor nodded with a stern expression. He hesitated for a moment, then opened his palm to reveal an old, leather watch. It looked expensive, despite the scribbles of black pen on the bottom. It also looked big—too big for a boy as small as Connor. 

“Hank’s,” Connor informed them.

Ah. That made more sense. Carl had done the same thing the first time he’d left Markus somewhere overnight. The boy had been five, and was terrified that Carl wouldn’t return until Carl had given him a keychain to hold on to. 

“If you put Hank’s watch on the table until we’re finished making lunch, it’ll be safer and cleaner,” Carl told him. 

Connor swayed side to side as he hesitated, but relented and placed the watch tenderly at the table. When he turned back around, he began washing his hands without even being told to do so. Had he been cooking with Hank? 

Carl began to teach them both how to peel the lettuce leaves off and separate them into each of the eight bowls. While the boys worked on the salads, Carl began to prepare a pot of soup. He had been asked, once, why he didn’t just hire a chef for the house. The answer had been simple—Carl enjoyed cooking, and he enjoyed teaching the children. It was a valuable skill to have, and it was an easy activity to help grow comfortable with somebody new. 

As they worked, Markus spoke quietly about different things. He had accepted Connor’s quietness easily enough, speaking to him in ways that only required a nod or a shake in reply. Connor listened the whole time as Markus spoke about summer camps and his siblings and Carl’s paintings. The breakthrough came when Markus nodded at the dog on Connor’s shirt. 

“Do you like dogs?” He asked. “Do you have any?” 

First, Connor shook his head. Then he nodded. He paused, next. Finally, he spoke. “Hank has a dog named Sumo, and Sumo is really big and eats lots of food.” 

“How big?” 

“One hundred and seventy pounds.” Connor paused from tearing off lettuce leaves to spread his arms out in a visual display of how large the dog was. “He sleeps on my stomach and eats with us, but he can’t come to work with us, because Hank says ‘no dogs allowed’ means Sumo can’t go.” 

“You have a job?” Markus was tearing open a bag of shredded cheese to sprinkle on the salads. “Is it fun? What do you do?” 

Connor shrugged. “Sometimes I read about sharks. Sometimes I read about bugs. Sometimes I draw bugs for Hank, and then we get burgers.” 

Markus nodded his approval, because ten-year-old boys didn’t have any concept of what ‘working’ entailed. And then, “is Hank going to adopt you?” 

The question was entirely Carl’s fault, he was sure, and it made him freeze. At some point he probably should have explained that just because kids visited foster homes didn’t mean they would be adopted there. All of them had been adopted by Carl fairly quickly after first arriving as a foster child, so he supposed it would make sense to them that it always worked that way. Especially Markus, who had been adopted when he was so little that he didn’t remember anything else. 

Carl expected Connor to shrivel back up and grow quiet again. 

Instead, Connor just shook his head. 

“No,” he said, putting the last lettuce leaves into a bowl. “My dad will pick me up when he’s all better.” 

______________________________

 

Connor’s sudden talkativity seemed to be exclusive to Markus alone. When the other children gathered at the table for lunch, he returned to his silent nature of only watching the others. That didn’t surprise Carl too much. Nearly every child who had come to him from a traumatic experience went through a period of silence directly following the event. What he’d found, though, was that often times the presence of other children could help to sway that silence just a little, if they met a friend they got along with exceptionally well. 

For Connor, Markus seemed to be that friend. 

The boy jumped at any loud noise or fast movement, and didn’t seem particularly keen on trusting North or Josh after their small dispute upstairs, but he was willing to try anything if Markus did it first. He’d held an opposition towards actually eating the salad that they’d prepared, like it hadn’t occurred to him that they would have to eat the food that they prepared. He’d kicked his feet quietly until Markus took a bite, pushing aside the carrots and cheese to just get a bite of lettuce. 

Slowly, Connor pushed away all of his carrots and cheese to stab a lettuce leaf. When he’d nibbled a small bit off and determined that it wasn’t going to kill him, he took a larger bite. 

Most ten year olds were still masters of mimicry, copying things that they watched adults do in order to gain their own skills and hobbies. Often times, Markus would paint with Carl in the studio, or Josh would come and color with him while he worked in his office. Both of those events were mimicry in their own forms. 

Connor’s mimicry was different—like a much smaller child who had never experienced the world before. He would try things after seeing someone else do them, like he didn’t entirely trust anything that was said to him until he saw it for himself.

Connor had been nothing but an interesting child since Carl had met him, but he was a good kid. 

He took to the soup more easily, seeming to realize he was hungry after the first bite. He finished quickly, eating almost as fast as North, who still attacked every meal like it would be her last even after more than two years of living with Carl. 

Finished with eating, Connor returned to kicking his feet and analyzing everything around him. His gaze settled on the baby, who was smacking her hands on her tray next to Carl. 

“Eat your soup,” Kara chided from her other side. 

Alice smacked the tray again. “Soup!” 

The next time Carl tried to give her another spoonful, she took the plastic spoon from him and dumped its contents onto her tray. He lifted her before she could smash her hands into it and get soup on everyone at the table. Connor’s eyes followed. 

“Would you like to hold her?” Carl asked, wiping her face down with her bib. “She squirms a little, but she likes to be held.” 

Connor’s wide eyes blinked up at him like an owl. He snuck his gaze over to Kara, who beamed at him in approval. The boy hesitated, then nodded slowly. 

Next to him, Markus showed him how to hold his arms so that Alice would have plenty of support. When Carl handed Connor the baby, the boy’s arms wrapped gently around her, and his mouth hung open in a tiny  _ O.  _

She gripped the front of his shirt with the smallest fingers in the world, and he stilled his legs and watched her. He watched her quietly for the rest of the lunch, and Carl could easily see that he liked her and her itty bitty hands. When she reached up to clap a hand on his nose, he even smiled at her. 

When Kara finished and came to gather up her sister, he handed her back easily. Already moving on from the moment, Connor collected his plate and turned to Carl expectantly. 

It must have been habit, Carl assumed. The other children left their plates at the spots—they had all been asked to clean them, once upon a time, but Carl could only take so many dropped plates before changing the rule—which meant that it wasn’t mimicry that made Connor want to clean his plate. 

North lingered at the table while Connor and Carl cleaned the plates, head resting on her arms. 

It was Carl’s routine to work in his office until lunch, and in the studio until supper. If North was lingering for once, rather than darting back up the stairs with the others, then she could only be hoping to get to paint today. 

She had hated painting when she’d first arrive, Carl recalled. He’d only been able to get her to try when Markus and Josh begged her to participate with them, and even then she’d only stuck her fists right into a bucket of red paint and stuck her hands all over the canvas. She’d glared at Carl like she was daring him to reprimand her, but he hadn’t found any reason to. What she’d made had been art, after all, and it wasn’t uncommon for Carl to use his own hands to paint on occasion.

He’d asked her more frequently after that to come paint with him. She had always refused, pitching a fit more than once, but relented in the end every single time. 

Painting was therapeutic. It had yet to fail him with helping a child. 

So when they had cleaned the last of the plates and bowls, he ushered the two children into his studio.

North went straight for the canvases, dropping hers on the ground and gathering paints to pour onto her pallet. Hoping to imprint the correct steps into Connor’s mind on his first try, Carl took him to the other wall. 

He showed the boy to the painting that he was currently working on, and walked him through filling a pallet. When he told Connor to go and pick a canvas, he returned and dropped it on the floor like North had. 

In her own corner, the older girl was still smearing paints onto her canvas with her hands. 

Carl made sure to explain that Connor would be using brushes. 

When Connor seemed to have it down, Carl returned to his own piece. He had learned that expression came much more easily to those who thought they weren’t being watched. He painted, pretending to keep his focus trained in front of him, but he was an old man who had long since mastered the art of being nosy discreetly. From his peripheral, he could see Connor working slowly through his own picture. 

Connor’s painting may have been nothing at all, but Carl doubted it. If it had been nothing, it would have been lots of colors in lots of patterns. Instead, Connor used greens and browns and yellows, blotting them all over in their own clumps. Carl didn’t have a clue what it might have been, but he was certain that it was something. 

Connor would pause, occasionally, and turn to watch Carl or North work. North’s painting had evolved into a lion with big fangs sticking out of his mouth and blobs of color surrounding him, while Connor finished his blotchy forest. 

Carl really did focus on his work, then, satisfied that  the two children had sorted themselves out. He worked, moving up and down and back again until more and more of his image began to take shape. A face, pale white with blue and purple shading hidden within it. 

Focused on his work, Carl didn’t see the two children behind him fall asleep as they waited. 

____________________

For the entirety of Connor’s stay so far, there hadn’t been a single problem. And, even right now, Carl wasn’t sure that what they were having was a problem. All the children he’d taken in—except for Markus, who had only been a baby—had experienced what Connor was going through. 

Normally when a child had a panic attack, they would cry, or hyperventilate, or seek comfort. 

When Connor had a panic attack, he only curled up on the ground and squeezed his eyes shut. Though Carl had tried to help at first, he’d quickly determined that it was best to just let the kid ride it out. The kid lashed out at anyone who came close. 

The whole evening had passed without much incident. Carl had finished working for the day and woken North and Connor up for supper, and Connor had helped him cook again. They’d eaten, and the children had played in the yard for a while. Connor had sat in a lawn chair, content to survey the other children’s playing while he clung to Hank’s watch from a distance. They’d come inside, watched TV, and begun to get ready for bed. Connor had been fine up until it had come time to actually  _ sleep.  _

If Carl had to guess, he would guess that it had just been a terribly long day for a child who’d been through so much not even three days prior. He would also guess that it was really sinking in for Connor that he would have to spend a night away from Hank, who he had attached to rather quickly. 

He’d sent the other children upstairs, hovering over Connor where he was on the ground in the living room. Five of them had listened. Markus stayed. 

It was only ten, which meant it was unlikely that Hank would even be off work yet. If he would have been, Carl would have tried FaceTiming him to soothe some of Connor’s nerves. Instead, all he could do was sit with the poor child while he trembled on the floor. 

He’d put on a calming playlist and turned on the fireplace, knowing that those things generally helped his own children. It didn’t have any immediate effects, but that was to be expected, and Carl was prepared to wait. So he waited, even as Connor only curled in on himself further as time passed. After enough time, Markus slipped away up the stairs. 

Carl settled down into an armchair. The living room clock’s ticking felt louder than normal. 

Markus’ head popped back into the living room, and he watched Connor for a second before shuffling in. On his arm, Josh’s gecko was sitting with its tongue out. Carl frowned, and opened his mouth to chide the boy, but Markus had begun to shuffle further towards Connor. He squatted when he got close. 

Connor’s arms flew up like he was ready to fend the other boy off, but stopped just before they reached Markus’s face. His breathing still grew heavier, and Carl prepared to call Markus off.

Markus scooped the gecko off his arm and onto the back of his hand. He held it out for Connor to see, and Connor stared at it with hazy confusion for a few seconds. 

Then, miraculously, he began to settle. Entirely focused on the gecko that Markus had set on his palm, Connor’s breathing eased away from heaving. He still leaned away from Markus warily, but didn’t scramble away just yet. 

“Her name is Margo,” Markus told Connor, crossing his legs as he sat. “She eats fruit and insects and mice. She was Josh’s Christmas present.” 

Connor stroked the gecko gently with his pointer finger, sagging back against the couch. 

Markus, whose patience was a virtue, waited from a distance as Connor balanced his breathing out slowly. When his body wasn’t shaking any more and his breathing was back to a shaky rhythm, Markus scooted closer. Connor didn’t protest, but that may have been because his eyelids were drooping heavily now. 

They sat with the gecko on their knees until Connor leaned his head back on the couch, and eventually the small boy’s eyes closed. Rather than standing up or shaking his new friend awake, Markus just pointed at the TV remote. When Carl stood slowly and collected it for the boy, he was handed Margo the gecko in exchange. 

Carl watched Connor for a moment, making sure he really was asleep. When his breathing stayed even and he didn’t stir, Carl left to go return the reptile to her owner. 

He slipped her into her terrarium, checking on each of the other children to make sure that they, too, were still asleep. 

Downstairs, Markus’s head began to droop, too. 

______________________

When the doorbell rang the next morning, Carl was drinking tea in the kitchen. He stood slowly, and his knees protested noisily as he did. The entire house was still quiet, and a soft breeze was billowing in through the windows and ruffling the hanging organza. Sunlight poured in through the front hall windows like warm, uncured honey. 

Mornings like these, Carl liked to just sit and appreciate. It was easy to do while all the children were asleep and the house was quiet. 

He answered the door to an anxious-looking Hank. 

“Connor’s still asleep.” Carl opened the door wider so that Hank could step in. “Would you like some tea?” 

Hank shook his head and stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. “I’m not really a tea kind of guy. Was Connor alright?” 

“He got along with the other kids well. He took really well to Markus—he got really chatty with him around lunchtime.” 

“He talked to someone else?” Hank had an expression like a proud father. “And he didn’t get aggressive? No panic attacks?” 

“Just one.” Hank deflated at Carl’s words. He hurried to reassure the man. “Markus must have known he liked reptiles, though. He brought the gecko down, and Connor calmed down quickly enough.” 

“Kid likes animals, I’ll give him that.” Hank straightened. “Where’s he at?” 

Carl gestured for Hank to follow him. They walked to the living room together, to where the boys were piled under blankets on the couch. 

When Carl had returned to find them both asleep, he’d been hesitant to wake them both again. Instead, he’d lifted them both onto the couch and piled on all the blankets he could find. 

“There was a bed for him upstairs, but he didn’t want to sleep there. They both fell asleep down here around eleven thirty.” 

Hank shook his head with a certain fondness, but didn’t comment. He reached down and shook Connor’s shoulder until the boy’s eyes crackled slowly open. When his vision focused on Hank, he jolted up to hug Hank so quickly that Markus stirred on the other side of the couch. Hank was still for a moment, looking vaguely shocked, but hugged Connor back tightly all the same. 

When Connor pulled back, he felt around the couch, then paused. He chewed his lip for a moment. When he seemed to realize that what he was looking for wasn’t there, he held up a finger in the sign for  _ hold on a second.  _

He scrambled off the couch and darted out of the living room, leaving Carl and Hank to wait in the living room while Markus slept on. 

Having a sudden thought, Carl cleared his throat. When Hank glanced over at him, Carl found himself at a loss for what to say. He swirled his tongue in his mouth for a moment while he thought, before settling on a blunter approach. 

“Connor mentioned last night that his father will be picking him up as soon as he’s recovered. From what Captain Fowler detailed me on, however, Connor’s father was the homicide the DPD was there to investigate.” 

Hank looked like the rug had been pulled out from underneath him. The look that he gave Carl in return was as wide eyed as an owl. He chewed his bottom lip and turned away from Carl, towards one of the paintings across the room. He was processing. 

Finally, he said, “that makes sense, I guess. I thought he was recovering a little too quickly for someone who went through what he did, but… I just thought he had a resilient spirit or some shit. Jeez, though. I thought someone would have told him…”

Footsteps pounded down the steps, and Hank let his thought process trail away. He managed to clear his troubled look as Connor returned, holding Hank’s watch up for him. He pointed to the little hands, which read 8:10. 

“I know, I know. I’m just a little bit late. Sorry, kid.” Hank accepted the watch, slipping it back onto his wrist before clapping the boy on the back. “Thanks for watching him last night.” 

Carl waved the gratitude off. “I enjoyed having Connor here. I know Markus did, too. Call me if you ever need someone to watch him again—or if he wants to come see the gecko again, sometime. My door is always open.” 

He fixed the two with a warm smile, and felt his heart swell a little when Connor sent one back. On the boy’s other side, Hank was trying to hide his own grin. 

Carl led them back to the front door, handing Connor’s backpack to Hank. Connor stuck out his hand for a high five, seeming so much more at ease than he had been when he’d had to say goodbye to Hank the night before. Carl returned the high five, then sent Hank a more formal wave goodbye. 

As they left, he didn’t miss the hand that Hank kept on Connor’s back. The warmth in the gesture made Carl wonder if Hank knew he was already wrapped around the boy’s tiny finger. 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure how I feel about this addition, or if I want to keep it, so!! If you liked this and want it to remain, let me know below— your feedback helps me a bunch!
> 
> I love to talk about the kidfic AU, so if you’re interested in talking with me, message me on one of the medias below: 
> 
> Tumblr: 12am  
> Twitter: Safforias


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